It
by QueenOfHalf-BakedIdeas
Summary: Harry struggles against an immensely powerful dark object that attampts to posses him. Dark!Harry, completely original. May be a oneshot. KT for language, but nothing horrible.


"It…"

The noxious purple aura emitting from the statue of a dragon sent nasty chills of foreboding up Harry's spine. A nauseating odor known only to him overpowered the familiar mustiness of his candlelit study. Fierce, fiery amber eyes glared him from its perch on top of the eye-level bookcase, brows furrowed, scaly face curled into a loathsome sneer.

The mythical stone reptile had begun its detestable, all-too regular ritual. Since the age of sixteen, Harry had been acquainted with the sequence of events. He had rapidly learned to hate the figurine that he had once considered entrancing, and it was all due to "this". "It" (that is, the dragon, but more preferably called "it") had been slowly decreasing the time between these attacks occurred. What was once a bi-annual occurrence had progressed to become one that was bi-weekly. Never able to accustom himself to the frequent events, he futilely attempted to brace himself. He tried to convince himself that he wouldn't allow himself to be bowled over by the upcoming assault.

Harry was not disappointed when he felt the expected slithering tendril of spirit matter wrap around two intangible objects, one of the mind and the other of the deep soul, right behind the heart.

Instead of the expected pain, only a weak tug was felt in the vital areas. Acidic green eyes relieved their squint, cautiously opening. Color crept back into whitened knuckles that had been furtively grasping his plush chair's armrests. Tense shoulders relaxed, and a breath that Harry had not known he was holding escaped from his lungs.

Then- inconceivable pain, pressure bearing was down on him. The damn thing had toyed with him!

He staggered towards the bookshelf on which rested the source of his pitiable suffering, heels digging into the ground, giving everything he had into the resistance. Sadly, it was not enough, as it never was.

Closer and closer he grew to the vile beast, jerkily limping with two knees that were now buckling and shaking. Harry's head hung in his left hand, palm burning from the telltale signs of the unnatural fever; torso curled, and elbow resting on his midsection. His other arm extended, fingers trembling from the pain, the struggle.

His fingers barely brushed "it". Release. He crumbled to the floor.

Chest heaving, he lay flat on his back, eyes closed, palms facing the ceiling. Sweat poured off of his forehead, stinging his eyes and matting his straight, onyx bangs. His entire body felt as if it were aflame, but the sensation would subside soon; he had learned to recover, if not the art of defiance against the wretched thing. When he found some vestiges of his slowly returning breath, he wasted no time in cursing himself.

"Dammit," Harry verbally berated himself for letting "it" slip into his head.

He exhaustedly lumbered to his desk, slumping into his comfortable chair. Eyes locked onto the many papers, determined to resume the urgent work. Cool mahogany soothed the still-burning flesh of his left hand as its fingers curled around a quill. This project needed to be finished, and he only had so long until time would run out. When would that be? Harry had not a clue. What he did know is that if this task was never completed, one of the dragon's attempts at full possession would not fail. As it was, "it" gained power every time their essences clashed, every time physical contact was established. Dumbledore's experiments had blatantly proved that he would be overcome by the volatile spirit residing in the object. After that, there was no hope. His assistant standing guard outside the door would have to destroy his body, which would in fact no longer be his.

Harry knew all too well that the sentient being residing in the cold figure was out for his flesh, his blood. After all, "it", his enemy, his poison, his gradual murderer was naught but himself, his dark side sealed away by his and Dumbledore's joint efforts, his evil alter ego.

My first ever story...you like? I'm not really thinking about continuing it (pardon the pun, lol...), but if enough people like it, I may think about it. It was written as a stand alone short-short for my Creative writing class anyway, and I had to change some details to match Harry...


End file.
